


Before We Crash

by StarWitch (Witchofthestars)



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Characters being cute, Childhood Friends, Espionage, F/M, Fluff, Follows mostly episodes, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Idiot writing smart characters, Pining, Please have low expectations, Romance, Season 1 +, Some badassery, Spencer just deserves love, mature - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:40:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28942341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witchofthestars/pseuds/StarWitch
Summary: "And life will never be the same. Even when you get her back. Hell leaves its mark." -Jean Valentine
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Before We Crash

* * *

There was an intense buzzing deep in his ears. Like a swarm of a thousand angry bees roiling in his head, crashing again and again against his skull. It was all he could do to keep from clutching his hands to his ears and try to claw them out.

Instead, he blinked slowly and tried to listen to Mrs Volkov as she quickly dropped to her knees and reached for his hands, clutching them tightly, licking her lips before repeating herself. 

“Have you seen Kitya? Please Spencer… If you’ve seen Kitya, you must tell me. I-Is she hiding? Are the two of you playing a game?”

Spencer slowly shook his head, never taking his eyes from the watery gaze of his best friend’s mother. He noticed the tremble in her voice and the way it thickened her European accent, how his negative answer caused her to draw in a shuddering breath and close her eyes.

He wanted desperately to tell her that yes, he and Kit were playing. That Kit had gone off to hide and he’d gotten distracted with classwork and forgotten. No matter that he and Kit had never played such games… but the alternative was something dark and horrifying.

It meant that Kitya Volkov, his best friend, older than him by nine months twenty-eight days, had disappeared at the age of twelve, just three days before she turned thirteen. 

And he didnt know what to do about it. And he knew more than most his age or even a fully life wised adult.

The silence in his childhood home’s kitchen was broken only by the shuddering breathing of Mrs Volkov, and the pencil his own mom was using to write in her journal. She was hunched over the kitchen table, scribbling her thoughts and occasionally pausing to prod her cheek with the eraser end of the pencil. Seemingly oblivious to the situation at hand.

Swallowing thickly, Spencer turned his attention back to Mrs Volkov as she pushed herself to her feet and brushed off her long skirt.

“Mrs Volkov,” Spencer spoke louder than intended to hear himself over the buzzing in his head, “how do we find her?” He would do anything she asked of him. Anything.

She drew a deep breath into her willow like frame. Her expression was troubled, but she tried to smile at him. She was always kind to him, even when faced with the possibility of her daughters kidnapping, she had the ability to smile at him.

“I want you to take a piece of paper and write down the last time you saw Kitya. Then try to write down any places she might have gone or describe anyone you might have seen around lately that didn’t belong. I must make a phone call.”

With a jerk of his head, he rushed to follow her demand, willing to do anything to find Kit, and within moments he was back at the table where he quickly filled in the lines.

The last time he’d seen Kit, she hugged him goodbye on his porch at approximately 11:40 that day, December 28th, 1992. It was a Saturday and she had ballet practice until two pm. She left on her red bicycle wearing a green helmet that glittered in the high sun, blue jeans with a rip in the knee, a white tshirt with Garfield printed on the front, a blue and red flannel over it for a bit of warmth for the winter day, and white sneakers. Long brown hair in French braided pigtails that he’d done himself while she read a Beatrix Potter book… The Tale of the Flopsy Bunnies to be precise. 

Spencer recalled her taking off her little gold rose earrings and matching necklace and leaving them on his windowsill as she never wore jewelry while dancing. She was taller than him by six inches, meaning she was right at five feet in height, and her weight was that of a girl who spent a great deal of time being active.

His gaze drifted from his paper to the table chair across from him, the one where she always sat while he made them grilled cheese sandwiches. 

The time was now 8:43 pm… it was only a fifteen minute bike ride from the small studio where Kit practiced ballet nearly every day of the week except for Sundays. Saturdays were noon to two, weekdays six to eight. And she never missed a day. She was never late there, and never late home. And today she should have been home six hours before and he’d been wondering where she was, guessing that Mrs Volkov had her doing some sort of chore. Occasionally she would stop by the gas station for a drink, but he didn’t think she would do so that day as she complained about the cold and was in a rush to reach the studio as quickly as possible.

Mrs Volkov held lessons for piano, violin, and harp in their house in the afternoons, but he knew Kit had wanted to bring over her violin when she returned home from practice. She’d been practicing the lark ascending and was excited to show off her practice to him. Her talent lay with dancing, but she was fair enough at the piano and violin, which was a given with her mother. He was like his own mom in that respect. Always reading and learning.

The case was still sitting on the couch where she’d dropped it.

Suddenly Spencer remembered to describe her backpack she wore that carried her ballet shoes and practice clothes that she would change into at the studio. It was white, though aged and dirty, with little unicorns printed all over it, with a troll doll keychain that had a spike of bright blue hair.

He quickly searched his memory for any more details on her appearance that day and finding nothing more to add other than the small mole on the side of her nose near the bridge, he moved on to possible locations.

There wasn’t a day that didn’t go by that he wasn’t with her for at least the afternoon. 

While he was quickly finishing the last of his primary education, slated to graduate from public high school in May of 1993, Kit was homeschooled by her mom. She was a couple years ahead herself as she had her own thirst for knowledge and studies and worked through the summer break, it was for the best that she wasn’t put through the same torture that he was every day. 

Each day he would wake early, take the bus to school, do everything he could to remain unnoticed despite his obvious lack of height, especially when compared to the average senior student- the older students always found something to bully him for however. Sometimes Kit would join him for breakfast and quiz him though it was hardly needed on his part. But he liked to hear her talk, and hum when he got the answer correct. And she did it every time, even after fifty correct answers, cheering him on.

After school, as he had for the past two years, four months, and sixteen days since she and her mother moved in next door, marched over to introduce herself while the real estate agent had still been showing the house, he would find her waiting for him on his front porch and they would either go to his house or hers.

Over their friendship they had dinners at the pizza diner that was also a gas station down the street, disappear into the public library for hours, or sit in the branches of the tree behind her house. Four times a year he would join Mrs Volkov in watching Kit dance on stage and if his own mom was feeling well enough, she would come too. He put on magic shows in her living room, and she would act out classical plays as his mom read them in his.

There were very few places they went, either of them, and only two they went to without the other. He to school, she to ballet practice. They even tagged along to the others shopping days, though more and more often, he was having to do so without his mom, and just Kit.

They had no secrets from each other.

Spencer knew that she and her mom were from overseas, her father while alive, stayed behind. Kit knew that something was wrong with his mom, and that his dad had left them a long time ago because of it. 

Kit had big dreams of dancing in New York someday, and while he didn’t know yet what he wanted to do, he had every intention of doing it in New York where he could go watch her dance at every performance.

“Spencer, it’s getting late. You should say goodnight to Kitya and get ready for bed,” the voice of his mom broke the silence, and bringing his gaze to hers.

Seeing that his mom was finally lucid, he straightened his back and quickly rushed to ask her about Kit. “Mom, have you seen Kit?”

She tilted her head and blinked at him owlishly. “Wasn’t she just here having dinner with us?”

“Mom… we haven’t had dinner yet and no. She left for ballet practice at 11:45 this morning and hasn’t been seen since.”

Diana Reid gasped, a shaky hand coming to cover her lips. “Well I hope she gets home soon. I’ll make us some baked potatoes and chicken. How does that sound?”

Spencer tamped down his frustration. “I can’t eat. Not if Kit really is missing. Can you try to think of any strangers that have been around the neighborhood lately? There’s a new cashier at Din’s Pizza, but she's a teenager with black lipstick and nose piercings. She’s not likely to kidnap a thirteen year old girl on her bike.”

“Hmm, she sounds lovely. No, my little knight, I haven’t seen anyone out of the ordinary. Have you asked Alina?”

Spencer scrubbed his hands over his face, fighting back frustrated tears. “Mrs Volkov is asking us if we have.”

“Well I hope she finds our fairy eyed princess soon. I miss her.”

He was silent as he watched his mom move around the kitchen, cooking a dinner he was unable to eat, even though his stomach growled with hunger, he knew he would throw it up immediately.

A feeling that didn’t go away as days passed, and any sign of Kit failed to appear.

Mrs Volkov had brought over a man from the FBI to speak with him and his mom, an agent named David Rossi. He read everything Spencer had written before looking through his house. In the end, there hadn’t been much to find other than the obvious closeness he had with Kit, and how much he was worried for her. He knew the statistics… and he wished for once he didn’t.

* * *

Kitya Volkov had been missing for thirteen days eight hours. 

And Spencer knew that after just two days, they had been looking for the body of his best friend rather than finding her alive.

Each moment that went by that she was still gone, left him feeling helpless and shattered, the only escape being his studies. It was only when he had four books open across the kitchen table and his pencil flying across paper with facts, figures, and bits of information that only he could care to learn, was he able to push the constant reminder of his missing friend away.

But he couldn’t always be lost in his books. He still had to go to school and sleep. Which after Kit missing her thirteenth birthday, to which he had her gift sitting on his dresser, waiting for her return, sleep was nearly impossible.

He dreamed often that he was burying the stuffed Peter Rabbit he’d gotten her instead of _her_. 

Eventually he hid the gift deep in his closet, hoping to lock away the nightmare.

* * *

Thirteen days and nine hours, the red and blue flash of police lights drew him to his bedroom window.

His hand shook as he slowly pulled the curtain further to the side, and he held his breath, terrified of what the implications of the sudden arrival of police outside the Volkov house meant.

Mrs Volkov stood in the dark of the winter night, her hands held to her mouth as she watched Agent Rossi step from a black vehicle and wave her over. 

The sight of a small pale hand coming out of the car door Rossi opened was enough to send him running from his house, note caring about the cold and his bare feet.

“Kitty!” he cried out just as Mrs Volkov reached her daughter and carefully set a shaking hand to Kit’s dirty cheek. He wanted to throw himself between them and see for himself that Kit was truly alright, to hug her tightly, tell her how scared he’d been, how relieved and happy he was to see her.

But Rossi intercepted him and held him back with firm hands on his shoulders.

“Kitty…” he said again, his voice weak as he tried to hold back his tears.

She turned watery green eyes on him over her mom’s shoulder. Her face was dirty, her eyes sunken and dark and her wrists were raw and covered with dry blood. he could see she wore the same clothes he’d last seen her in, though her shoes and socks were missing.

“Knightly,’ Kit said in a tiny voice, one that had him trying to pull away from Rossi as she called him the nickname she gave him after hearing his mom call him a little knight.

Mrs Volkov suddenly straightened and looked over at him and the agent. “We need to go now.”

“Everything will be ready, all we need to do is leave,” Rossi’s deep voice came from above him.

“What do you mean go? Go where?” Spencer asked urgently, already quite aware of what was happening.

Kit shook her head and tried to stand form the vehicle, reaching for the hand he immediately held out. “I just-” her voice cracked, forcing her to stop and swallow before trying again, the sight twisting his stomach painfully and leaving him wondering what horrors she went through. “I just got home.”

His hand wrapped around hers and he started to pull her into his arms when an arm wrapped around his waist and hauled him back out of reach, ripping his hand from hers. He immediately began to struggle. “Stop! Put me down! Kit!”

But in his struggles her own cries and struggles became apparent as Mrs Volkov pushed Kit back into the vehicle. “Spencer! I want to stay!” she sobbed with a voice that ached. “I want to stay with Spencer!”

“Kit! Let me go, please, you can’t do this!”

Mrs Volkov had slipped in after Kit, pausing only long enough to look at him with a sad expression. “I’m so sorry Spencer. Stay brilliant and kind.”

He watched in stunned silence as she then slammed the door, and whoever was driving, perhaps another agent, sped away down the dark abandoned street, Kit screaming his name.

“No!” he screamed out and fought viciously to free himself. The moment the vehicle was out of his immediate reach, Rossi released him, and he hit the cold sidewalk running. His lungs burned from the cold and the anguish, but he ran till he finally took a turn and could no longer track the direction they had gone.

His best friend whom he’d just learned was alive and rescued after nearly fourteen days missing, had just disappeared from his life once more.

Spencer didn’t know how long he stood there, begging for that black suv to drive back into sight, for Kit to come out and hug him and never leave again, but he knew. Whatever happened, they were gone for good.

“This is for her safety son. And yours.” Agent Rossi said, coming to stand at his side.

His breathing was labored as he tried, and failed, to understand how this could possibly be for their safety.

“I need to know,” he said at last, tilting his head back to meet Rossi’s stare in the dim streetlights. “Make me understand any of this.”

“I can’t tell you what you want. Other than your attention to detail helped find and save Miss Volkov. Even if you don’t know the ins and outs of what happened here over the past two weeks, you are a hero,” he said before setting a hand on his shoulder and urging him to turn back to his house. 

Spencer immediately pulled away… but he returned home.

Being declared a hero did nothing to ease the ache.

The only thing that helped, was Rossi’s repeat that Kit was safe and alive… even if she could no longer be in his life.

As time passed, the day to day life of twelve year old in public high school continued, though without Kit he had ever more time to begin preparing to earn degrees in college. Learning chased away the memories as it always did.

But it didn’t help when the Volkov house was auctioned off and all the belongings stripped away, and an older couple moved in. Nor when he walked by a flyer for the latest spring ballet recital, or his graduation. Kit wasn’t there as he juggled time between studying at Caltech and taking care of a steadily deteriorating mom in Las Vegas.

She wasn’t there as he finally hit a growth spurt and grew to seventy-three inches, earned three Phds in mathematics, chemistry, and engineering as well as a couple of bachelors, moved his mom into Bennington Sanitarium, approached by James Gideon and fast tracked into the FBI.

Kit wasn’t there, though he liked to think she would be proud of him for following in the footsteps of the agent who saved her all those years ago.

Once every year since gaining regular access to the internet and search engines, he would search for her or anything involving her initial disappearance. Hoping to see her name advertised in New York, or anywhere with a stage.

But as far as the rest of the world was concerned, there had never been a Kitya or Alina Volkov in Las Vegas or the states at all. No mention of the girl who disappeared for fourteen days, reappeared for all of five minutes, then disappeared forever.

The now retired agent David Rossi had said he was a hero. Spencer hadn’t felt it then, and he wasn’t seeking to feel it now that he was an agent with the BAU himself. He just wanted to use his intelligence and skill set to save as many people as he could.

Spencer thought often about what he’d written down for Agent Rossi, wondering what detail had helped in leading them to find Kit. It had just been a quick snapshot of their life together.

There hadn’t been time to write down how they taught themselves Morse code with flashlights from their separate rooms. How she begged and begged for him to dress as Gomez Addams for Halloween so that she could be Morticia or listened to him excitedly go on about some bit of information he found fascinating. 

How she was afraid of the quiet and couldn’t sleep without a radio on and how she seemed to know when the dark of night was just a bit too dark for him to feel safe and she would crawl in through his window to sleep, bringing her radio with her.

So many happy moments and soft recollections weighed heavy in his memory… but they were constantly overshadowed by one. 

The way Kit screamed his name as she was ripped from his life.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Yay, nay? Keep going or tear it down and burn in a dumpster fire?


End file.
